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Updated: May 13, 2025
The police peons on duty looked disdainfully at the phantom of Captain H. C. Jorgenson, Barque Wild Rose, wandering on the silent quay or standing still for hours at the edge of the sombre roadstead speckled by the anchor lights of ships an adventurous soul longing to recross the waters of oblivion.
But the young men whom she met were ordinary and she gave them no encouragement, trying to console her romantic desires by eating a great deal of Turkish Delight in secret. However, when she drew near the limit and her friends began to loosen their tongues about her, she silenced them by marrying Mr. Kearney, who was a bootmaker on Ormond Quay. He was much older than she.
At the break in the wall where access is obtained to the quay, my attention is, I do not know why, attracted by two people walking along together. The man is from thirty to thirty-five years old, the woman from twenty-five to thirty, the man already a grayish brown, with mobile face, lively look, easy walk with a certain swinging of the hips.
Aided by old memories she found her way to the quay and to the small steamer with the long English name, which plied twice a week between the ports of Caer-Madoc and Cardiff. "Are you going to Cardiff?" she asked the master, who stood on the quay. "Why, yes, of course this is the day, and we are starting in a quarter of an hour.
Fortunately for Sir Robert's project, they reached the quay just as the vessel alluded to was about to sail; and as there was, at that period, no novelty in seeing a priest shipped out of the country, the loungers about the place, whatever they might have thought in their hearts, seemed to take no particular notice of the transaction.
I sat forward, straining my eyes in the darkness along that narrow quay, on the look-out for the many holes I knew were only too surely there. The journey seemed to take hours, and I answered a query of the orderly's as to the distance. The boy heard my voice and mistook me for one of the Sisters, and then followed one of the most trying half-hours I have ever been through.
The General and I have been here in the mountains we did not do it; and that that leaves you." "It does not leave me," Aiken cried. He shouted it out with such spirit that I wondered at him. It was the same sort of spirit which makes a rat fight because he can't get away, but I didn't think so then. "It was Quay sold you out!" Aiken cried.
They gave the alarm. I happened to be in the street at the time, purchasing muscatels for the Christmas snap-dragon, and, after rushing up to the Quay to satisfy myself, proceeded with all haste to Mr. Sullivan, Captain of the Brigade. I found him at tea, but behaving in a somewhat extraordinary manner. It is well known that Mr. and Mrs.
It pleased me to leave them alone before the fire and to go out on the quay to dream, leaning on the parapet and looking at the water. When they spoke of their life at N , and when Brigitte, almost cheerful, assumed a motherly air to recall some incident of their childhood days, it seemed to me that I suffered, and yet took pleasure in it.
On the right of this vast city rose what was mistaken by Popanilla for an immense but leafless forest; but more practical men than the Fantaisian Captain have been equally confounded by the first sight of a million of masts. The canoe cut its way with increased rapidity, and ere Popanilla had recovered himself sufficiently to make even an ejaculation, he found himself at the side of a quay.
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